


From around the Commonwealth

by reisana_devlin



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5429399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reisana_devlin/pseuds/reisana_devlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of stories between Paladin Danse and the female Sole Survivor. NSFW chapters will be marked. Stories mostly take place after Blind Betrayal.</p><p>The original first chapter has been moved so you're not hit with NSFW right out of the gate. For the most part, there's no strict continuity other than Blind Betrayal having taken place unless otherwise noted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From the roof of a ruined hole in the wall restaurant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse has a surprise for Sofia. He tries his hand at a casual dinner, but he missed the part about dinner and a show. Keywords: and a show.

"It's just a bit further," Danse radioed, hoping he came across as tired from their long journey back from the ruined marinas.

Sofia grunted in reply as she trudged behind him. She insisted on stopping to scavenge for scrap when they left Hangman's Alley--she said some of the settlements were out of copper wiring again. It was going well until they ran afoul of raiders in an abandoned apartment building; Danse carried some of the broken leg plating for her T-60 power armor. A lucky trap, a bath scale hidden in the debris of a collapsed hallway, detonated. Stimpaks took care of the sting from the burns, but they would need to repair the leg armor. She refused to leave him and visit the Prydwen for more thorough medical assistance, and for that, he was secretly glad.

"Tell me when we get to a good place to camp because this shit is getting heavier by the minute," Sofia groused, exhaustion pooling in her bones as they trudged towards the outskirts of downtown Boston. If she never saw another mirelurk or smelled the dank wet of the ocean and the decaying debris washing ashore, it would be too soon.

They marched in sullen silence as the skies fluoresced in oranges and purples and pinks and reds with the setting sun. Danse veered towards an abandoned diner and swept ahead to clear the location. He reappeared a few minutes later and signaled the okay with a flash of his power armor helmet headlamp. Sofia's legs burned as she pushed through the door. When Danse held the door open to another room in the back of the ruined diner, she sighed and followed slowly.

He barred the door once they were safely inside and pointed at an empty trunk where she could stow the sack of junk and scrap. She unloaded the rucksack and the majority of her weapons, opting to keep a small reliable .44 handy. She tugged on the release of her power armor and winced as it grated and wheezed apart. She hopped down and picked up her trusty .44 pistol, tucking it in her ratty holster.

She turned around to ask Danse a question but found she was standing in a ruined kitchen, all alone. She scooped up random cans and boxes of food left on the counters; someone would be able to make use of this. She was busy unpacking the sleeping bags when he stomped downstairs and turned on the overhead lights.

"We should get up to the roof and scout the area," Danse said impatiently, taking the sleeping bags out of her arms. Sofia nodded and followed, grabbing her railway rifle before entering the stairwell. She had enough spikes and rounds to last the evening, should they run into any situations.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Sofia leveled her rifle and began to move towards an empty wooden garden. Danse grabbed her arm, interrupting her. She whirled around and hissed, "What?"

They stared at each other as the seconds began to stretch into minutes. Danse swallowed and guided her to a decorated shack, bedecked in a string of dim lights and rusted tin cans. He led her to an empty vinyl chair and eased her down. She gaped as she took in the rickety table, the worn tablecloth, and the place settings. She didn't jump when he lugged a cooler onto the table and removed some tupperware containers filled with vegetables--salad a la Sanctuary, which turned out to be a mix of sliced tatoes, carrots, gourd cubes, and carrot greens with chunks of soiced mutfruit. She folded her hands and set them in her lap as he brought out glasses, a couple bottles of purified water, a couple bottles of Nuka Cola (one normal and the other cherry), and a bottle of rum.

Sofia stared dumbly as Danse fumbled with preparing dinner. Any attempts to get up and help were met with a growl of, "as you were" as he heated up some ribs on a hot plate. He sat down and picked up one of the plastic containers of salad and piled his plate high. He passed the container to her, and she finally found her voice.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sofia asked quietly, picking out the tato slices and moving them to one side of her plate.

Danse stayed silent as he opened a bottle of water and placed it in front of her. He produced a small glass jar of homemade dressing and uncorked it before passing it across the table. When he had flipped the vegetables on his plate to his satisfaction, he set his fork down and cleared his throat.

"I happened across a manual on Pre-war dating procedures," he said quietly. "I...I haven't really had the chance to engage in proper extracurricular R&R activities because I have spent my entire adult life serving the Brotherhood. Perhaps I misunderstood the relationship that has developed, and I may have crossed a line by arranging for us to enjoy a meal that is not room temperature--"

Sofia held up her hand, cutting off Danse's rambling. She set her fork down and looked him squarely in the eyes before she reached across the table to touch his hand. She ran her fingers lightly across the back of his hand before letting her hand rest on top, curling her fingers under his palm. She squeezed his hand gently and smiled, her face softening under the dim party lights.

"This is great, Danse," Sofia said after an awkward pause, the words struggling to form as she took in the preparation for a nice dinner that didn't come oozing out of a rusty can from the Super Duper Mart. "I can't remember the last time someone went through so much trouble for me, well, since before the war."

"We've been trekking further afield, Knight, and--"

"Sofia."

Danse cleared his throat again and rubbed his neck before starting again.

"Sofia," he started slowly, "between helping the settlements and running missions for the Brotherhood and searching for your son, you need time to relax. Proper rest and nutrition are paramount to successful campaigns in the field."

She laughed and released his hand to grab the opened bottle of water. She raised it up and said, "To proper rest and nutrition." He mirrored her movement, and they touched the ends of the water bottles together in a plastic bonking toast.

They finished the salad off in short order, and Danse excused himself to grab the ribs off the hot plate. He placed the stew pot on the table, and Sofia's mouth watered at the sight and smell of the short ribs. How had he managed to throw together a barbecue sauce? She didn't recall ever seeing him near a cooking station or stove unless it was to monitor dinner lest it burn or boil over.

"Codsworth had some interesting modifications to pre-war recipes," Danse said as he piled some ribs onto a new plate. "It wasn't easy asking for help, but he assured me he used to assist you in the kitchen, before the war."

Sofia took the proffered plate and waited for Danse to finish serving himself a heaping plate. She watched as the glazed sauce oozed down onto the plate, and she smiled, shaking her head as she abandoned her silverware to nosh on the barbecue. She worked the meat off the bones in short order, showing no remorse for her grayish t-shirt that developed a barbecue splatter pattern akin to some of her better headshots. Danse observed her, noting how gleefully she worried the remaining bits of tender flesh away from the gristle and rib bones. She sucked the end of a particularly stubborn rib that refused to yield the last of its flesh, and Danse shifted uncomfortably as he watched her work away the more pliant pieces of meat from bone. He filed that image away for later, to join the other memories of her that he found intriguing and breathtaking.

She conceded defeat as the meat gave way to gristle and tendon. She plunked the rib down and licked the sauce off her tacky fingers, wiping the last stubborn dregs against a napkin. She leaned back and tossed her napkin onto her plate. As Danse finished picking at the remnants of his platter, Sofia grabbed the rum and the Nuka Colas. He quirked an eyebrow as he watched her mix some of the rum with the colas. She handed him his and touched the rim of her glass to his before walking away and sipping. She dug out a crushed pack of cigarettes and lit one, letting her first drag of smoke curl around her when she exhaled loudly. He wrinkled his nose as she became haloed in blue-grey smoke, but took the opportunity to clean up the plates and utensils before joining her on the concrete ledge.

"Hand me my rifle, would ya?" she asked nonchalantly, her bent cigarette hanging precariously on her lips as she set her drink down. "I wanna make sure we're not sitting ducks out here."

Danse furrowed his brows together, shaking his head and holding her rifle hostage.

"What did you say?" he asked incredulously as he gripped her railway rifle tightly.

"I said, 'I wanna make sure we're not sitting ducks out here.'"

Sofia stared at Danse in bewilderment, lips pursed as she toked on the limp cigarette. They continued staring at each other until he realized she was still waiting on her railway rifle.  "Oh," he replied sheepishly, placing it in her waiting hands.

Bent cigarette still burning and hanging from her lips, she looked through the scope and started a casual sweep of the area. Her face scrunched up as she focused in, taking a drag. The line of ash grew longer, and before he could berate her for being careless, she pulled away from the scope and propped her rifle carefully on the concrete beside her. She tapped her cigarette and took another drag before stubbing it out, smoke curling out of her nostrils.

"Any movement out there?" he asked softly, handing her the forgotten drink.

"From what I can see--"

Sofia was cut off by a hole blasting into the concrete edge, tiny chunks of debris flying up from a slug's impact. Danse pushed her down and covered her mouth. More bullets bit into the wall, sending up a plume of smoke and dust. Once the cloud settled, Danse rolled off and crawled towards his discarded rifle. Sofia flipped over and peeked over the ledge, trying to discern the changes in the ruins below. She whipped her railway rifle and zoomed in with her scope, trying to pin down the source of the bullet barrage that pocked the side of the building.

Movement caught her eye, and she fired a series of spikes at the fleeing figure. A series of shouts rang out below, followed by a burst of bullets aimed towards her companion, back in the saddle of his power armor. She pulled another cigarette out and lit it before resuming her prone position, picking off raiders that were attempting to set up their own sniping positions. With each shriek and distant thunk of a spike embedding into the buildings below, she smirked and blew out a puff of smoke with each pull of the trigger.

"Keep track of your kills, paladin," Sofia said over the radio. "Loser has to buy dessert."

"I won't lose, knight," Danse's smug voice crackled over the radio, cut in a cacophony of laser discharges and raider screams. "I like my snack cakes with a side of sweet tato pie."

"Keep dreaming!"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to keep Danse awkward, I really did. I also tried my hand at fluff, but I couldn't resist rewriting a part after someone misread a snippet. Don't worry, dear readers and friends, more smut is on the way at some point here in the near future.
> 
> I am humbled by the initial response to the first chapter. Wow, you guys. Thank you for all the kudos and the bookmarks so far.
> 
> Also, smoking is bad, but I couldn't resist writing it in for Sofia. The struggles of quitting. Don't ever stop trying to quit smoking.


	2. From a crowded doorway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse refuses to budge and crowds Sofia in the doorway.

"Danse," Sofia whined, shoving him back futilely, her hands planted against his chest plate as she attempted to shove him away, "get out of the way!"

The corners of his mouth turned up in a sly grin as he grabbed her hands and moved them back into the house. He kicked the door shut with his foot and picked her up, ignoring her shrieks of protest as he settled her against the wall. She scowled angrily, squirming helplessly between his chest plate and the wall. Her hips creaked as her legs wrapped around the thinnest part of his power armor, and she relaxed to try and alleviate some of the ache from being pinned.

Before she could berate him further, he leaned in and whispered huskily, "decorum prohibits it, but I feel like being very close to you right now." He captured her lips in a kiss that stole her objections and complaints, deepening with a fervor formerly reserved in lecturing on the finer points of rifle maintenance, Brotherhood protocol, and the merits of cataloguing lost technology for the good of humanity. She melted and allowed herself to enjoy this stolen moment, clinging for dear life as he broke the kiss and moved them away from the door. ___****_********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, the companions love getting in the way. It could be my imagination, but Danse is problematic and likes standing in doorways. Move, man, get out the way!
> 
> Also, I have no idea why this struck me but fluff fluff fluff have some fluff.


	3. From the shadows [NSFW]

The sun sank behind the trees, casting an orange glow among the treetops. The stars winked into existence, dotting the ultrablack sky, now clear of the hazy nuclear storm that raged for most of the afternoon. The two lone figures trudging under the dense copse of trees broke the silence as the servos, pistons, and gears groaned and whirred over the dull roar of snapping branches and crunching leaves.

As they crested the top of the hill, the battered cul-de-sac of Sanctuary Hills opened and spilled below. Sofia sighed and pushed ahead, eagerly skidding and loping downhill. With surprising ease, she catapulted over the battered white picket fence and stomped towards an empty power armor bay under a dilapidated awning. The pistons hissed as the plates separated, allowing her to step back. Despite the cold December air, her thin t-shirt stuck to her back. She grabbed a ragged hand towel and wiped her face, mopping up sweat but further smudging the dirt and grime that built up from the road. She flung the towel into a beaten metal bucket and walked inside the run-down ranch house, vinyl tiles long gone with only rusting steel plates keeping the blustery wind out (barely).

She emptied a small bag of food on the counter and began putting away the cans and boxes of food scrounged from the road and ruins of Boston. She was dragging a larger rucksack full of junk that could be recycled for the blossoming community in her old neighborhood when the waning light was blocked by a tall, sweaty, and familiar shadow. Sofia dropped the handle of the rucksack and sat back, looking up.

"Paladin Danse," she said, gesturing to the sack, "I was getting ready to deposit these scraps--"

Large calloused hands grabbed the handle and carried the bag away. Sofia sighed and brushed her jeans, rising to square off against the no-nonsense Paladin. He hefted the bag over his shoulder and cleared his throat, a little phlegmy and a little rough from barking orders over the hail of bullets from their last fire fight.

"Knight Campbell," Danse replied, "you should get cleaned up and get some rest. We can patch up and refuel here without worry. The settlers here will look out for you as you have looked out for them."

"But Danse--"

"That's an order," he snapped, cutting her feeble protest short, voice softening to a low rumble as he continued, "we've marched hard, and if you don't rest, you'll hurt yourself."

"But Danse--"

"Besides, I can't figure out how you make that Cram and eggs casserole. You have a way of making it palatable. We can check the gardens to see if the carrots are ready, but we brought back a lot of Cram and those deviled eggs. I'll take this sack of junk over to the workshop while you get cleaned up."

Sofia sighed and nodded, removing her dingy skull bandana as she padded away to scrounge up a clean(er) set of clothes and some soap. She had time to clean up before she threw together that abominable casserole. Where was that bottle of wine...

********

Danse set the wrench down, dabbing his brow with a fresh dish rag that had fewer holes than the house. His thick brows furrowed together as the wind kicked up and howled, rattling the roof and rustling the branches. It was definitely windy, and was part of the house moaning under the stress of disrepair? Fixing his T-60 leg plates could wait--his fellow sister-in-steel was sleeping under this rickety roof.

He walked into the house and paused, letting his ears lock on the moaning. Confirming it was coming from Sofia's room, he continued down and--

\--his eyes locked on her writhing body, teeth sunk into lips, one hand cupping and twisting at a bared breast and the other out of sight. Her teeth released her lower lip, lush and full and dark, as a breathy moan escaped. Danse found himself stepping forward, and his eyes found her other hand was splayed over her naked hips, fingers ghosting through a dark patch of curls and two digits disappearing to plumb her slick depths.

The candles burned low, flickering flames casting moving shadows across her body. Her eyes squeezed shut, her faux hawk loose and dark hair billowing around her head, Sofia's nightgown was pulled down to expose one of her small breasts and rucked up about her stomach. Danse swallowed thickly, unable to move and flee, watching her hips thrust and roll as she brought herself closer to completion. His eyes tried not to memorize the pale livid network of stretch marks or how her freckles not only dusted her nose, but her shoulders, her arms, and her chest.

Her low moans became desperate sighs as she chased her release. When she finally crested, Sofia wailed, riding one hand while she braced herself on the floor with the other. She removed her hand and flexed her fingers as her body sagged into the mattress, arm flopping and lazily grasping a small washcloth.

Her eyes opened slowly as she flung the washcloth into a wire basket, and she sighed, tugging the edge of her nightgown down and tucking her breast under the safety of the cloth. She shivered and dragged a spare sleeping bag over herself, remembering a time so very long ago when she had warmth and love curled up next to her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she curled into a ball, her mind drifting not to her dead husband, but to her constant companion and brother-in-arms. She didn't know she was being watched as she tried to relieve some of the thick tension that had been building between them lately.

As Sofia drifted off to sleep, she remained blissfully ignorant of her Brotherhood of Steel sponsor's voyeurism or his hurried pace to a working shower, his lust for her building and his pants tight about the seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this head canon that Danse is a tiny bit of a creeper. Tiny bit.


	4. From the spoils of war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sofia reminds Danse the spoils of war isn't just the booty found on the bodies of the fallen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was more angsty than I intended. I may have bled my dialogue choices into this piece. Oops. Someone get me a bandage.

Leather and hammered steel pieces of armor were piled neatly on the ground. Sofia counted out nearly completed sets of body armor, lips moving around silent words as she packed up the latest haul from a pocket of raiders. She had to be satisfied with four incomplete sets of armor--the settlers were going to have to make do without left legs or right arms for protection this time around. She jotted down some notes on her Pip-Boy for items needed at the various settlements when she felt the ground shake with the familiar stomping of Danse's X-01 power armor.

"You're exceeding the recommended weight limit for ground units, soldier," he said sternly, towering over her. His power armor cloaked her in shadow, but he stepped back when she stood up and held out the handle of her worn duffel bag.

"Either you just called me, 'fat' or you're offering to carry this bag of gear for the settlers in Hangman's Alley," Sofia retorted, brushing off the knees of her faded Brotherhood of Steel jumper. "We can't be there at all the settlements, and those dead Raiders aren't going to utilize this pilfered armor for maximum efficiency, _paladin_."

"I...I would be glad to share the burden," he mumbled, sliding his arms through the straps and busying himself with the sudden emergency of securing his load. Sofia grunted as she twisted the hatch to her power armor and climbed in, servos whining and grinding. She made a mental note to break down some of the weaker weapons for gears, screws, and base metal for some defense plans she had stewed over--raiders, ghouls, and Super Mutants were still a regular nuisance for the fledgling settlements and farms budding in the blasted wasteland of the Commonwealth.

Once the looted gear was distributed between them, the pair continued picking their way from the gates of Diamond City in silence, laser rifles readied and swinging with each stomp. The early morning was eerily silent; no birds sang save for the crows perched on ruined power lines or crumbling brick walls. As they passed under some intact power lines, a murder of crows called ominously at their approach. Sofia's leg armor plates had broken off when she leapt out of the way of an errant frag grenade. Each step shrieked and groaned as the power armor frame compensated for the support that had been destroyed. She would need to devote some time for repairs once they made it back safely to Hangman's Alley.

As they wound through the cluttered alleys, sounds of gunfire erupted in the distance. Sofia stopped walking and stood still, holding a hand up when Danse paused beside her and began to open his mouth in protest. She scanned the openings of side streets and crouched, moving forward with less protest but more puffing from irritated pistons and servos. She shut off her headlamp and hefted her rifle, zooming in with her scope at the tops of buildings and the corners of intersections. After doing a visual sweep, she stood up and relaxed her grip on her banged-up, worn laser rifle, moving forward and waving at Danse to follow.

They marched through several intersections, Sofia pausing to clear with her scope and sending Danse through after her. When they rounded the corner and saw the fence kludged together with rusted steel sheeting, and splintered slabs of wood and sheathed in twisted coils of barbed wire, she sprinted ahead eagerly.

Sofia pushed through the gate and was greeted by the settlers working small patches of crops squeezed between concrete pillars and brick townhouses and rickety wooden shacks. Some of the settlers kept working, planting and weeding the meager lines of carrots and tatoes, but a few set down their hoes and shovels to discover what kind of materials were being stored.

Danse watched her from behind a makeshift weapons workbench. He paused in tuning the crystal array for his laser rifle as the settlers gathered, waiting patiently as Sofia assessed what bits of armor they could use for extra protection, smiling and thanking her for thinking of them. He leaned against the concrete pillar and tilted his head as she shooed away small sacks of caps, her face animated in refusal and passionate in her selfless gesture of protecting the settlers. A thin ghoul, her ratty skirt clinging to her skinny legs, threw her arms around Sofia in a fierce hug. Sofia laughed and squeezed the ghoul back gently, holding her out at arms' length as she leaned back and smiled at the grateful woman.

Danse resumed repairs on his rifle and pondered why his paladin cared so much for a creature hated by his former Brotherhood. He was absorbed in realigning the emitters and finishing soldering the wire connections he failed to notice Sofia flopping onto the worn and faded bar stool next to the workbench. She fished a Nuka-Cola out of her bag and set it down, jarring the scraps of metal he had set aside for his rifle maintenance.

"Take a break, Danse," she murmured, popping the cap off and pocketing it. "We did good out there today."

He remained silent, nodding as he grabbed the bottle and took a swig. She scooped the metal bits back into a neat pile and began twirling a screwdriver around in lazy circles, letting the tool loll between her dirty fingers. Danse gulped down the rest of the soda and tossed the bottle into a basket, clanking as it settled. He picked up the soldering tool again, but set it back down and whirled to face Sofia.

"Why are you helping ghouls?" he asked suddenly.

Sofia blanched, mouth dropping in shock.

"Danse, why would I _not_ help ghouls who are trying to eke out an existence here, the same as you and me?" she retorted angrily. "Lana, the ghoul? She wasn't always a ghoul, you know."

"But ghouls--" he stuttered.

"--are people, too," Sofia snapped, slamming her hand on the workbench. "She used to look human, you know, but life gave her a twist she can't control. She's able-bodied and willing to work to make this shithole livable, a place where people can find safety and comfort. She has her mind, but her body got a little twisted by the abundance of fucking rads."

He glared at her, angry but unable to refute the optimism and truth in her words. He set down the soldering iron and leaned against the concrete pillar, staring down at her. Since coming out of the cryogenic freeze in that blasted Vault, he remembered she was a plump woman, thighs rubbing together as she loped along the ruined roads. She'd been wearing the same faded orange-and-cream jumper issued when she signed up with the Brotherhood, and he realized she had lost a little weight. The light from the burn barrel next to her cast a harsh contrast across her face, and her cheekbones stood out prominently, no longer hidden by a swatch of cherubic fat.

"What," she demanded furiously, "is there something on my face you don't like?"

"No," Danse replied, shoulders sagging as he started forward. He placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them gently (and smearing soot on her jumpsuit). She remained tensed and shrank from his touch, only to find she was boxed in by the stool and his muscular frame towering over her. He grasped her chin and tilted it up towards him gently before continuing. "You have a way of reminding me there is life outside the Brotherhood, and I am outside it. I am anathema just like the ghouls, and I forget they were human before the War."

Sofia glowered silently, dark almond eyes blinking slowly as she waited for him to continue.

"I...it's not easy for me to acknowledge I'm not even human, and I've had a lot of...it's humbling when you remind me of that, and how you treat people based on their actions, not what they are."

Danse let go of her chin and moved to push back, and she grabbed his hands and reeled him back to her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest, clutching tightly. He dropped a hand to her hair--styled in a stacked bob with a fresh undercut, still her natural brown-black--and mussed her hair before he disentangled her arms and sank to his knees in front of her.

"That you say I'm so human, that you have such adoration for me--"

Sofia wrapped her arms behind his neck and silenced him with a fierce kiss. Some of the settlers hooted, and she disengaged a hand briefly, the result returning louder jeers and hollering. He pulled away and turned back to the bench, intent on abandoning the argument and salvaging what remained of his dignity. She hopped off the stool and patted his back, pausing briefly before leaving the shop area.

"You have been pushing to make this land safe, and not wholly because of your Brotherhood ties," Sofia said softly. "You actually care about helping people and righting wrongs and setting down order, and that speaks to your humanity, not your beliefs, not your training. Maybe it was programmed when you...anyway, you give a fuck about what happens to the innocent. And that is more than I can say for the rest of the Brotherhood."

Danse stared as she spun and walked towards the tall shack the community built. He turned back to the forgotten rifle and picked it up, mulling over the weight in his hands. He sighed and began working on adding a new stock, wondering how she could be so stoic and perceptive to the spoils of this never-ending post-nuclear war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, 4 chapters in and y'all have been so nice with your kudos. I am touched and honored that there's such positive reception to this series born of the tripe knocking about in my skull. Thank you all for the love, the hits, and the comments. I am just amazed; I really am.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at reisana-devlin.tumblr.com for periodic splat posts if you're into that sort of thing. It's mostly previews of what I feel are really good or really cringeworthy.
> 
> You may have noticed that the original first chapter got moved. It's a dick move to have the NSFW piece first.


	5. From the floor in penance [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sofia gets reckless and injured as a result. Danse feels stern and...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Oral.

Sofia winced as Danse dabbed a cold alcohol wipe over her scraped arm. He continued swiping the flimsy towel until it felt dry before he opened a tube of moisturizing ointment, smearing the jelly over the scrapes and covering it with a clean cotton swatch. He wrapped some stretchy gauze around the swatch and her arm, tying it off and testing the fit before standing up and walking away. She stared sullenly after Danse’s retreating form and murmured her thanks as she pulled up the shoulders of her jumpsuit. She fidgeted with the zipper as Danse came back with a couple ice cold Gwinnett Stouts. He sat back down on the worn stool he occupied when he tended to her cuts from their recent battle with a group of Super Mutants. Sofia stood up and cradled her arm as she started walking away before she heard his voice.

“Sofia,” he commanded, “sit back down. We’re not done here yet.”

She rolled her eyes and flopped back onto the red workbench, leaning against the shelves. Her legs dangled over the edge, feet kicking lazily as she readied herself for the inevitable stern lecture. Danse waited for her feet to still before clearing his throat and continuing his lecture.

“You need to wait in cover so we have the advantage,” he said sternly, the bottles of Gwinnett Stout clinking as his hands swayed gently. “Rushing in before you’ve scoped the environment gets you hurt—like you were when I had to tackle you out of the way of the suicider approaching us. If you have the upper hand, you cannot squander it by running in ‘guns blazing.’”

Sofia chewed on her lower lip as Danse’s grim eyes bored into her. He was right—she had grossly underestimated the number of Super Mutants milling about near the shopping center’s entrance. She forgot that some of them—despite claiming their superior nature—armed themselves with makeshift nuclear bombs and turned themselves into towering pillars of tackling death.

Thankfully, Danse could outrun her in his power armor and tackled her into the alley, his laser rifle discharging red vines of death. It was a lucky shot when he took out the suicider’s right arm—the beeps were strung together and sounded almost like a long note drawn out—but the consequence was the force of the blast shaking the ground, toppling Danse over and her arms taking the brunt of her fall as she bounced and skid along the rough ground, every piece of refuse and rubble and debris biting into her arms as she braced herself with her forearms. Danse had hauled her up and shoved her heavily modded Righteous Authority back into her hands before running interference. Remembering how he saved their asses with efficient tactical thinking and execution of cover and shielding, she released her lower lip and stared up at him through her long dark lashes.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he growled, leaning forward as he balanced his elbows on his knees.

Sofia glared at him before her face crumbled, her stubborn pride giving way as she recounted the countless times he covered her and watched her back. She hung her head and clasped her hands, dropping them between her knees as she slouched and stewed in her growing embarrassment. She wanted his piercing gaze to be anywhere but on her as he waited patiently for an apology or some half-assed explanation. She exhaled and sank lower onto the workbench, feeling rather dumb.

“Danse,” she began, the words stumbling slowly out of her mouth, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, and I hadn’t calculated for there being a patrol following the lone suicider. I was complacent, and I should have waited for the end result of sniping that armed scout on the edge of the perimeter.”

Sofia swallowed thickly and stared at her toes. The toes of her scuffed boots held her interest as the silence widened before two hands gripped her knees and another pair of knees entered her field of vision. One of the hands grabbed her chin and tilted it up gently. Her deep brown eyes met his warm brown orbs, and she gulped, mood sour and patience worn thin like her ratty off white tank top peeking through her jump suit.

“You need to be more careful,” he said, pulling her in for a sweet kiss on the lips. “If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Sofia nodded weakly and gave in to the imploring swipe of his tongue, allowing it to plumb her own tongue as she slid forward and straddled his lap. He cradled her in his arms and sat back, hands releasing her face and roaming to push her jumpsuit off her shoulders, ceasing only to tug her zipper down. She squeaked and sat back, shaking her head fervently as she said, “I can’t.”

Danse leaned back, bracing his back against the cluttered weapons bench behind him. His hands rubbed Sofia’s bare arms, goosebumps prickling in the aftermath of his feathery caress. He smiled at her, noting how her pupils dilated after he touched and kissed her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, hands moving up to play along the gentle, soft lines of her throat.

She whined and tried to slide off his lap, his hands snapping down to grab her wrists. She tugged, but he held them firmly and pulled her forward, eyes dark and shining. With a throaty mewl in response to his gentle touching, she sank back down on his lap and patted his chest. He stopped moving his hands and waited for her to speak.

“I can’t right now because,” she started, looking away from his soft expectant gaze, “because it’s that time.”

“What time?” he asked, moving his hands down to her hips and digging small circles with his broad thumbs.

“That time of the month,” came the quiet reply.

“What time of the month? What are you—“

“I’m on my period, Danse,” she snapped. “I’m bleeding…there.”

His eyes widened with horror and realization. Large hands cupped her face and brought her in for a chaste kiss. She slumped further in his grip, withdrawing with a sigh.

“We shouldn’t do…that,” she breathed, her face reddening with embarrassment. “The smell of blood is what keeps drawing the critters.”

Danse cradled her in his arms and couldn’t help grinding his hips into hers, drawing a wanton moan from her lips. He pushed her off his lap and began divesting himself of his jumper. She quirked an eyebrow up in curiosity before he finished tugging his legs out of the suit.

“What are you doing?” she asked quietly, squirming on the cold floor.

He smirked and grabbed Sofia’s hands, pulling her closer. She yelped and giggled as he dragged her up, shifting in his seat. Danse drew his lips into a thin line as he brushed some flyaway strands of hair away from her ear and murmured, “you need to show me how sorry you truly are for today’s little episode.”

She whimpered as his tongue lapped behind her ear, her hips betraying her abstinence. When he withdrew from her neck, she shivered and slid off his lap. His hands fell onto his stomach while Sofia worked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers and slid them down his legs, exposing him to the chilly night air. She let the undergarment pool about his ankles as she planted deliberately slow kisses along the inside of his thighs. When she neared his thatch of dark curly hair, she averted her path and snaked up his torso, tracing her tongue over the scars lining his lower belly. His hands wove into her short tresses and gently pushed down, silently encouraging her to tend to his aching penance.

Sofia lifted her head, looking up at him through a curtain of long, dark lashes. She blinked slowly as she slid back down to the floor and ran one hand teasingly along his length. He groaned, his cock twitching as she began slowly kissing the tip, swirling her tongue around the head before taking it into her mouth slowly. His fingers tightened in her hair, and he hummed his approval as he thrust up. She kept her eyes open and unblinking as she worked his length, bit by bit, until her nose buried into the tight little curls at the base of his cock.

“Yes,” he hissed, “just like—ah! Like that.”

Sofia continued bobbing slowly, letting one of her hands slide along the length that wasn’t captured between her lips. She let the tip pop out of her mouth—it had been quite some time since she found herself on her knees, and her jaw ached—before spitting on his length and taking him back into her mouth. Nate had been gentle when she blew him, but she wished her body wasn’t renewing itself for a new child. She moaned as she sucked, the corners of her mouth dull with pain and the suction she kept on him.

“Sofia, da—“ he gasped, “out, let—let me out.”

Sofia’s eyelashes fluttered shut as she ignored him, tightening her lips and hollowing her cheeks as she continued working his shaft. She bore through the dull pain, keeping the vacuum formed by her lips and mouth tight as she coaxed him closer. Danse tried pulling out, but she stayed on him, a low hum building in her throat. His hips began to piston, the punishing pace guiding him closer and closer to release until he roared. He kept thrusting, his momentum faltering as he spilled in her mouth. She opened her eyes and continued humming as she worked him, wringing each wave of pleasure and undoing him until she finally let him slide out of her mouth. She wiped the corners and flexed her jaw, coughing. He slumped back in the chair, boneless and unable to sit up to clean himself.

Sofia smirked as she grabbed a clean washcloth and began wiping him down. She tossed the cloth into a bent metal basket and poured a shot of whiskey for both of them from the bottle she had picked up from one of the bars they cleared out near the waterfront in the ruins of downtown Boston. She walked over and picked up Danse’s limp hand, placing the stout glass in his hand and closing his fingers around it. He nodded weakly and took a sip, watching her as she slammed the shot and winced.

“That was,” Danse breathed, amazed at how she made him feel so sated and so weak, “better than a training exercise.”

She hummed her approval and poured another shot for herself, watching him through hooded lashes as she slammed another shot down, the alcohol burning as it slid down her throat. She set the shot glass down and sauntered over to him, tugging his boxers up over his knees and letting him the arduous task of pulling them up to cover him. She flopped on the floor next to him and leaned her head against his heavy thigh, smiling as a heavy hand knotted into her hair and began massaging her scalp.

“So, is that penance enough?” She asked, looking up at him.

Danse lifted her up and pulled her in for a kiss, not caring that her puffy lips had just slid over his piston and swallowed him whole. He broke away and nodded, touching his forehead against hers. He was glad she stuck by his side despite the discovery of his true identity at the Institute. Despite the memories from his past that he couldn’t differentiate as being his own or fabricated, this was real. He never experienced sex like this, and he wasn’t sure his line was going to work. It worked in the confiscated holotape he kept tucked at the bottom of his rucksack….maybe she’d let him pull out and finish on her face next time.

He kissed her sweetly as he reeled in the thought that yes, there will be a next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to the usual suspects in sin for helping me sin.


	6. From underneath the jumpsuit [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse discovers Sofia wears something under her jumpsuit, hidden from view. Smut happens. Consider it the first time they do the do.

Sofia’s back slammed into the concrete wall of the bunker. Danse’s hands were busy yanking down the zipper of her orange Brotherhood of Steel jumpsuit, her legs wrapped around his barrel waist. His mouth covered hers in a fierce kiss as he finally won the struggle with her zipper, and he slid it down, exposing her thin, ratty undershirt. She shivered at the contact with the cold air, gripping his hair as she melted into his kiss and his hands, which found her pert breasts. She moaned as he massaged the soft globes, her nipples sharpening to points under the pressure.

His mouth wound down to her chest, teeth clinking against something buried under the tank top. He drew back and reached underneath, pulling out a set of holotags. His eyes widened when he read the tag’s embossed name, and he pulled her away from the wall and let her slide off his waist. He put a hand on the wall behind him while the other hand cradled the glowing tags in his hand.

“You’re wearing my tags,” Danse whispered, his voice low and reverent. “Why?”

Sofia looked up at him, her mouth parted. She laughed and covered his hand with hers, blocking the lambent glow of his former holotags from view. Her fingers clasped his hand tightly as she drew it to her chest.

“Because you are all I have left in this shitty world,” she breathed, pulling his hand up for a kiss. “I wear them under my jumpsuit where no one will see them, so I’m carrying you with me but not overtly defying Elder Maxson’s decree.”

Danse stared, stunned into silence. No maxim or quote about duty to the Brotherhood came out. No stern admonishment for speaking ill yet again of the Brotherhood’s most esteemed elder. No lecture followed. He opened his mouth to speak because he was so touched, but no words came forth--he was stunned speechless at the thoughtful gesture. Until Sofia admitted she care for him in the same way, he was convinced his admiration would be unrequited, just a “crush” as he’d overheard some initiates and knights refer to the forbidden fraternizations that arose within the ranks of the Brotherhood of Steel.

“Danse?” Sofia’s voice cut through his haze of amazement. “Danse, are you okay?”

He shook his head and worked his hand from under hers, dropping the holotags. They clinked as they settled between her breasts, and he settled his hands around her waist, walking them back towards the lone sleeping bag on the floor of the bunker. He let go of her and began zipping his own jumpsuit down, untying his boots and kicking them off before wriggling out of the jumpsuit. Sofia cocked her head in confusion until he knelt on the ground and began untying her boots. She helped him, sliding her arms out of the suit and shimmying out of it once her feet were freed from her worn combat boots. When she was divested of the worn orange jumpsuit, Danse shoved their boots near the beaten steamer trunk. He grabbed her hands and guided her down onto the sleeping bag.

Sofia laid down on the bag, hands floating up towards him. He clasped her hands and laid down beside her, pulling her close. He wrapped his hands around her and began kissing her fervently. She panted as his lips closed over hers, tongues dancing between them. He slid one hand between them, fingers nimbly pulling back the elastic band of her hip hugging panties and sliding down. She whined as his fingers poked around aimlessly before she guided a free hand down and redirected his fingers towards her slick heat. He grumbled in approval when his fingers swirled around her pearl, noting how her breathing hitched and how her legs opened further to accept his awkward pawing.

Danse followed the gentle cues from Sofia’s hand as she guided him to the places and the rhythm of her pleasure. Satisfied at how quickly he was learning how to touch her, she removed her hand and slipped it down the front of his boxers, humming with delight when she found his length. He moaned when she wrapped her fingers around him and began lightly stroking his velvet rod, tracing the veins of his shaft with a feather light touch. He picked up the tempo of his fingers sliding in and out of her damp, observing how she breathed and moaned as her hips swayed when he added another finger to the first. She removed her hand to flit her fingers over her pearl, her cries intensifying into a desperate wail when she finally crested over the edge. He continued stroking until she grabbed his hand and pushed it back, kissing him feverishly.

“Was that good?” he asked, his voice low and dark with want.

Sofia nodded weakly, clinging to him as she kissed his mouth and moving to his neck. He growled when she nipped at his pulse, his need thick and aching as it rubbed against her thigh. She didn’t protest or squirm when he grabbed his cock and rubbed the head along her seam, instead slipping her hand down between them to guide him inside her. He groaned into her neck as she seated him in her arousal and gasped as he filled her.

Sofia stared up at the ceiling and slid along his cock, drawing out another moan from him. Danse pushed himself up on his hands and crooned softly at her as he began to thrust, watching her eyes flutter shut as he built a steady tempo. His hips began slamming into hers as he lifted her knees up and pushed them out towards the sides, cursing as she tightened around him. When she began pulsing, he struggled to maintain his now-punishing rhythm as he chased his own release. She bore down and cried out as she crashed again, her forgotten fingers rubbing furiously over her clit as he ploughed her roughly. He broke and groaned, slamming and stilling as he released inside her, collapsing onto her and breathing heavily.

They lay together, limbs tangled, as he softened and slid out. He captured her lips and kissed her softly, nipping along her swollen lips. She sighed and flung a hand out, looking for a discarded shirt to clean off his flaccid member and to wipe her sex down. He flopped back and allowed her ministrations to continue, humming as she mopped up the stringy ropes of his arousal. She flung the wadded shirt away and flopped next to him, nuzzling into his side and burying her nose in his neck.

"You've taught me what being close to someone really means,” he murmured, settling down and leaning his head against hers, his hand closing over the holotags as they rested between her breasts. “I’ll cherish that forever.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the little things that count, like carrying a torch for the current beau. Such a shame when it's not reciprocated. Happy romance day.


End file.
